In 1915, the New York Tribune published a
promotional pamphlet describing Beachwood, the latest resort development
south of Toms River. Interested buyers were invited to send for an
application to purchase a Beachwood lot. For a mere $19.60 and the price
of a six-month subscription to the Tribune, future residents
could enjoy "the best there is at Barnegat Bay." [22] A money-making scheme created by Bertram
Chapman Mayo, the newspaper's promotions manager, Beachwood began as
2,000 acres laid out in 20' x 100' lots. The advertisement hoped to
attract New Yorkers by emphasizing the future town's location at the
intersection of the Central and Pennsylvania Railroads. Pictures of
forest paths, blueberry bushes, and bathing in the bay were juxtaposed
with the assurance that "a continuous stream of automobiles pass through
Beachwood on the way to Atlantic City." [23]

The Tribune immediately hired civil engineer
Addison D. Nickerson to design and build a clubhouse, pier, bathhouse,
lodge, dining hall, and railroad station. "By May 1915, More than ninety
new owners and their families were visiting Beachwood, living in tents
on their new land or staying at the thirty-seven room lodge." [24] The exclusive settlement of "rustic cabins
and bungalows" became a borough in 1917. Five years later, Beachwood was
in the process of forming a volunteer fire department, building a
chapel, and constructing the Polyhue Yacht Club. Primarily a residential
community, Beachwood has maintained a suburban scale despite the
proximity of Route 9. The tradition of preserving the pines, established
by the Beachwood Property Owners Association in 1919, has also preserved
a sense of the atmosphere Mayo so convincingly described. [25]

Ocean Gate

Like Pine Beach and Beachwood, Ocean Gate, the most
coastal of the three cities, began as a planned development. Founded in
1909 by Charles Guttentag, president of the Great Eastern Building
Corporation, Ocean Gate was advertised in Philadelphia newspapers before
construction began. Potential buyers, who were taken to the future
settlement by train from Philadelphia, often purchased lots on the trip
home. [26] The property, once a farm owned
by a Toms River businessman, was laid out in a grid of streets named for
popular resorts like Long Branch and Cape May. Residential lots varied
in price according to their distance from the Pennsylvania Railroad line
that cut diagonally through town; houses south of the tracks started at
$500, while those north of the railroad and nearer the water were valued
at a minimum of $1,000. Potential customers passed through the 1910
train station on Narragansett Avenue, now used as a municipal
building.

By the time it became a borough in 1918, Ocean Gate
had an elementary school, a fire company, two hotels, and several
stores. After its incorporation, the city improved roads, and
constructed a public pier and an 8 foot-wide boardwalk. A Methodist
church was built on the corner of Bayview and Asbury avenues. Unlike the
primarily residential neighboring communities, Ocean Gate developed a
substantial commercial district. Ocean Gate Avenue is hardly bustling
today, but the remaining shops, Kiesel's Hotel, and the yacht club
suggest a self-sufficient community with a once-prosperous past.

Pinewald

Originally designed by Colonel Will Farrow for
retired members of the military, Barnegat Park was soon transformed by
the utopian ideas of B.W. Sangor. The New York and Miami developer
imagined a vast and luxurious resort town catering to wealthy urban
vacationers. Between 1928 and 1929, about 8,000 lots were sold in
Pinewald, a "new-type, residential, recreational city-of-the
sea-and-pines." [27] The developers
immediately began construction of the Pinewald pavilion and pier at the
end of Butler Avenue. The Royal Pines Hotel (Fig. 95), a $ 1.175 million
investment facing Crystal Lake, was built on the site of an earlier
hotel dating back to the days of Barnegat Park. [28]

Figure 95. Royal Pines Hotel, Pinewald. HABS No. NJ-1101-1.

Mystery surrounds the eight-story concrete-and-steel
building rising above the scrubby pines. Said to have been constructed
by Russian architect W. Oltar-Jevsky in the early 1920s, the Royal Pines
could serve as a movie set. Al Capone may have frequented its halls,
perhaps even venturing beneath the lake in tunnels especially designed
for smuggling "package goods." One newspaper article interviewed an
unidentified man who claimed that "in the early 1930s the then Royal
Pines Hotel was frequented by society's elite who, for $1.90 a drink,
consumed prohibition liquor under the watchful eye of men who had guns
strapped under their coats." [29]

After the stock market crash in 1929, the hotel was
purchased for $50,000 and converted into a nursing home. Brochures
advertising the medical center continued to emphasize its beneficial
location. "You are in the pines yet at the sea. Relax on the promenade,
if you wish, collecting your coat of tan. Breathe in the salty freshness
of the ocean from the deck of a sailboat across the bay. Swim in the
cameo-like Crystal Lake on which the Royal Pines fronts." [30] The building currently houses the Bayview
Convalescent Center. Though the interior has been modernized, the
dilapidated exterior recalls the hotel's grand history. The second floor
opens out onto a terrace and bridge crossing the road to an abandoned
lakeside pavilion. Stucco cornucopias, fixed atop either side of the
bridge walls, recall a more plentiful past.

Twentieth-Century Resort Development

Figure 96. Sun Fun in New Jersey. Library of Congress. ca. 1920s.

Since the "boom years" of the railroad, the Jersey
Shore has undergone steady change; during the nineteenth century, many
northern resorts grew from the speculative ventures of individual
improvement companies based in New York and Philadelphia. The area
around Toms River and the Island Beach peninsula was slated for private
development, but the village of Toms River and the communities along
Barnegat Bay also received resort trade as a result of the railroad. The
southern barrier islands became habitable, and even popular, as private
companies anticipated the arrival of crowds by rail. In contrast, the
religious resorts sprinkled along the shore depended more on the vision
of a dedicated association, though these towns also grew after the main
railroad lines were established.

With a few exceptions, the goals of the earliest
resortsthe establishment of healthful and spiritual retreats amid
natural surroundingshave been obscured by the practical
requirements of modern commercialization. While people still seek the
spiritual peace promised by a seaside vacation, they seldom find the
pristine landscape frequently described in contemporary brochures (Fig.
96). In exchange for a host of modern conveniences, from instant food
and gasoline to automatic tellers, a price is paid in the physical
condition of the environment. Because resorts depend on both services
and ambiance to attract tourists, issues affecting population and
preservation determine economic livelihood. Such vital questions
concerned early shore historians H.C. Woolman and T.H. Rose. At the end
of his entry on beach residents, Woolman documents the construction of
"summer homes for city families," noting, somewhat wistfully, that the
new buildings would gradually replace "the weather-beaten dwellings" of
those "humble beachmen" who "gather a livelihood from the natural
productions of the neighboring bay." [31]
Woolman's nostalgia for the simpler existence complementing nature
touched on the paradox of the resort; the very people who visited,
seeking to refresh themselves in the quiet of undisturbed wilderness,
eventually destroyed that natural peace.

Wildwood

Since the founding of Holly Beach as a health resort
amid "wild woods," Wildwood has undergone a social and architectural
transformation. During the 1890s, Philadelphia papers advertised large
numbers of rental cottages and hotel accommodations. Local guests were
entertained at a band-concert pavilion near the beach, joined by a
carousel in 1892. Early photographs of the Holly Beach area, now the
city of Wildwood, showboats and piers scattered across the sand like
driftwood. As late as the 1930s, tourists visiting "the port of call for
the Atlantic fishing fleet" could watch boats haul in shipments of cod
and mackerel that "are among the largest on the coast." [32] The beaches still entertain large crowds,
but contemporary visitors no longer come to Wildwood for its tangled
vegetation or fish-laden vessels. Wildwood's distinctive resort
personality developed in the 1950s. Encouraged by the completion of the
Garden State Parkway, promoters built resort hotels to attract lower-
and middle-class "excursionists." Wildwood offered cheap, exciting
entertainment for the day, as well as accommodations for extended stays
at reasonable prices (Fig. 97). The "new resort provided an appealing
compromise between the amusement parks at Atlantic City and Asbury Park,
and the classier resorts of Stone Harbor and Cape May.

Figure 97. "Just a Hop, Skip and a Jump to Wildwood." Cape May County
Historical & Genealogical Society.

The city's nineteenth- and early twentieth-century
heritage is preserved in a number of Victorian civic and residential
structures. Yet, when local businessmen approached the Mid-Atlantic
Center for the Arts (MAC) in Cape May to begin to promote Wildwood's
history, it recommended that the city turn to its commercial
architecturethe motels, diners, and movie theaters built during
the mid twentieth century. The result was a "Back to the '50s" trolley
tour highlighting what Wildwood's promoters call "Doo-wop" styles:
"Blast Off!," "Pu-Pu Platter," and "Phony Colonee." Architectural
features include "Jetson Fins," "Boomerang Roof lines," "Tomorrowland
Ramps," and "Levitating Rooms/Signs." [33]
Night is the best time to observe the blocks and blocks of mesmerizing
neon lights, spectacular colors, and outrageous designs of the motel
architecture exhibiting such features (Fig. 98). Not surprisingly, the
architectural boom of the 1950s-60s corresponds to what many regard as
the Wildwoods' "heyday"the club years when performers such as
Lionel Hampton, Chubby Checker, Johnny Mathis, Liberace, and Connie
Francis entertained the crowds.

The study of individual hotels begins to demonstrate
consistency in the imitation and distribution of locally created design
elements (Fig. 99). Regional businesses were influential in building and
designing hotels, neon signs, and balconies. A distinctive bowed metal
balcony common to many commercial structures also appears in private
homes. The Allied Sign Company was responsible for many of the town's
lighting designs, and the Mitchell Welding Company created most
balconies. Builders frequently re-used plans, receiving sign-offs from
the town's only architect. In these cases, where the role of the
architect is diminished, further study should focus on the manufacturing
companies responsible for mass-producing such details.

Figure 99. El Ray Motel/Caribbean Hotel. HABS No. NJ-1189-1.

Cape May

Travel guides documenting the rise and fall of Cape
May's popularity in the early twentieth century point to competition
from other shore resorts as the main reason for a noticeable decline in
tourism. But the Works Progress Administration guide published in the
1930s assured potential visitors that "the city does not fret over its
loss of patronage." [34] As one contemporary
travel writer observed, Cape May was upstaged by Atlantic City in the
1920s and Wildwood in the 1950s. After the 1962 hurricane, the city
began a preservation effort leading to extensive restoration of its
architecture and strict enforcement of building codes. Along with this
attention toward the built environment came a number of exotic
restaurants, which also contributed to the resort's new image. [35] Today, Cape May offers a combination of
Victorian culture packaged in scenic tours and standard boardwalk fare
like skeetball and pork rolls. Classier gift shops selling ethnic
artifacts, animal sculptures, and "Cape May" apparel are also plentiful
in the Washington mall area, and antique stores can be discovered tucked
away in unlikely corners.

Atlantic City

Characterizing various attitudes toward Atlantic City
Boardwalk life in 1939, the WPA guide to the city remarked that "to some
it represents the concentrated Babbitry of America on parade." [36] Today, the island has been so transformed
by development that many visitors, entranced by the sparkle of the
casinos and the sea, do not even realize they've left the mainland. The
proximity of the other communities also often goes unnoticed, as
Atlantic City isolates itself in an aura of "anything's possible."

Driving through Atlantic City on the way to the
boardwalk, first-time visitors might question the mythology of wealth
and wonder surrounding the resort. The contrast between neighborhoods of
decaying houses and dilapidated commercial buildings (left over from
prosperous Victorian years that lingered into the 192Os) and the more
contemporary boardwalk development first became noticeable in the 1950s.
A combination of factors resulted in the city's decline as a family
resort: competition from other shore towns, the widespread use of
automobiles leading to the demise of the railroad, and a lack of
interest in Atlantic City's old-fashioned convention center. [37]

In 1978, voters agreed that "casino gaming" used as
"a unique tool for urban development" might bring back
nineteenth-century propriety and traditions. [38] Today, the boardwalk is lined with the
glimmering towers and turrets of Bally's, Trump Tower, and ten other
casinos (Fig. 100). The Disneyland-style, bright plastic and
gold-colored "architecture," contributes to the sense of distance from
dilapidated commercial streets and residential neighborhoods. But the
wall of casinos and stores lining the boardwalk has not resulted in
urban renewal. Perhaps the building of low-income housing near the
marina, sponsored by Harrah's, will begin to improve living conditions
in that part of the city. In 1991, the freshly-built units appeared
conspicuously new and vacant amid characteristic urban blight. The
Atlantic City of spectacle and excess has retreated from the boardwalk
to the casino interior. However, even the most critical visitor is drawn
by Atlantic City's power to embody certain American traditions. The real
Atlantic City may be thirteen casinos against a backdrop of economic
disparity, but visitors still bring home images of prosperity on boxes
of taffy, postcards, and dinner plates.

While other Jersey Shore resorts declined after the
railroad boom, Asbury Park continued to evolve, achieving popularity as
a full-time resort community. "Asbury Park offers you
welcomewelcome to the year 'round playground of the inviting
Atlantic Coast," declared a 1938 souvenir folder. [39] A haven of escape during troubled times,
Asbury Park prospered throughout the Great Depression. Postcards depict
the crowded, colorful, and well-kept boardwalk, offering candy shops for
the sweet tooth, teahouses for the thirsty, and miniature golf to
satisfy the putt-putt craze of the 1930s (Fig. 101). Noisier games were
found at Palace Amusements on Wesley Lake next to the Mayfair Theater.
The latter was a bizarre, eclectic revival-style structure, floodlit at
night to resemble a movie set.

Figure 101. Asbury Park boardwalk & casino. Historic
postcard.

In September 1944, a hurricane that damaged the
boardwalk and destroyed a number of concession buildings prompted city
officials to redesign the waterfront. A consulting firm was called in on
the advice of New York's powerful parks commissioner, Robert Moses. The
firm urged Asbury Park to clear away most amusements, tear down the
casino, and adapt to the automobile age with "parking fields" for 1,800
cars behind the boardwalk. [40] By the
1950s, Asbury Park, "while much changed from 1920," was still
acknowledged "as the Duchess of the North Shore," one chronicler of New
Jersey reported (Fig. 102). During the 1960s, the city suffered from a
loss of commercial momentum as well as tourist trade. Race riots in the
latter part of the decade dealt the local economy a severe blow from
which it has yet to recover. The lyrics of Bruce Springsteen focused
attention on Asbury Park's dilapidated condition in the 1970s, but the
Boss' rock 'n' roll prominence was not enough to revive an entire
city.

Tourist attractions remaining in Asbury Park only
dimly recall more exuberant times. Surrounded by weed-ridden parking
lots and dilapidated commercial buildings, the once-famous amusement
park is now abandoned. A half-finished condominium development facing
the boardwalk suggests one unsuccessful solution to the city's complex
problem. In 1986, an optimistic tourist guide predicted that such
projects would encourage the rise of a new Asbury Park, reviving its
early reputation. "The $550 million redevelopment plan will give Asbury
Park a chance once again to become a thriving community and make it
practically unrecognizable in ten years to those who recall only neon
lights and the all-night sounds of rock 'n' roll." [41] Seven years later, the city still awaits
the arrival of this plan and its accompanying crowds.

Figure 102. Asbury Park Boardwalk.
Alfred Holden, 1991.

Long Branch

Already falling from favor toward the end of the
nineteenth century, Long Branch experienced a series of
twentieth-century misfortunes that contributed to its decline. The
city's slow demise as a resort can be traced back to 1893, when the New
Jersey legislature shut down horse racing, one of its chief recreational
attractions. Among the state senators who supported the bill was James
A. Bradley, founder of Asbury Park, an advocate of temperance, clean
living, and obviously Asbury Park, too, which coincidentally "succeeded
in drawing away a substantial portion of the wealthiest visitors to Long
Branch." [42]

The "cottagers" hung around longer. Presidents
William McKinley and Woodrow Wilson were yet to come, and more
Guggenheims would build mansions there. At the dawn of the automobile
age, car racing and horse shows enjoyed moments of fashion, but the loss
of gambling was a blow to an economy based nearly exclusively on resort
trade. [43] Nineteenth-century entrepreneurs
who experimented with local manufacturing such as shirt, cigar, and
button factories, and a mail-order house, were unable to succeed. [44] Storms consumed the famous sea-bathing
beaches. Gangs moved into the city, altering the social, and finally the
physical, composition of neighborhoods. Publicized gang-related murders
did little to promote summer vacationing. As the resort economy
dwindled, the dilapidated state of the city reflected its loss of
patronage. Not even the reopening of Monmouth Park racetrack (Fig. 103),
the closing of which contributed to Long Branch's rapid fall from favor,
could restore the Branch's tarnished image. [45] Today, hope for a renaissance of
nineteenth-century prosperity lies in beachfront development; a Hilton
Hotel may inspire others to build and encourage the remodeling of
remaining historic structures. [46]

Trains from Manhattan still roll through towns up and
down the north Jersey shore, travelling around the Amboys, inland across
Monmouth County's many creeks and swamps, and over the Navesink and
Shrewsbury rivers to the Atlantic beaches of Long Branch, following a
route laid down more than a century ago. However, many riders of New
Jersey Transit are now commuters rather than seaside revelers, and the
landscape of Long Branch has become fairly suburban. Generations of
debate over whether it is a resort or a city seem to have been resolved:
the ranch houses and road-generated sprawl built over its meadowlands
have made Long Branch a more typical American city. By 1940, authors for
the New Jersey Writers' Program declared that it "has expanded from a
tiny town struggling to preserve its identity against a giant resort to
a mature American city." [47]

Conclusion

The 1991 HABS report on Southern New Jersey and the
Delaware Bay concludes with recommendations for a companion survey of
shore themes and resources. Although common ground can be found for a
comparison of both coasts, the report's historians chose to focus on the
development of the resort industry along the shore from Cape May to
Sandy Hook. Obviously, the two regions differ in terms of extant
cultural resources. While South Jersey is scattered with industries that
have moved away and cities that have diminished, the Atlantic coastal
region continues to draw a significant population of summer
visitors.

The history of resorts in South Jersey illustrates
the difference between the primarily agricultural landscape of the
Delaware Bay and the more urban, commercial north. At the end of the
nineteenth and into the early twentieth century, three amusement parks
existed in the part of South Jersey below Route 47; Tumbling Dam
amusement park in Bridgeton, Riverview Beach Park in Pennsville, and
Millville's Luna Park were popular recreational destinations via
trolley. But South Jersey parks were not able to keep pace with the
automobile. When vehicular travel became the predominant means of access
to the shore, visitation declined. All three parks were closed by the
1950s and little remains of them. Not coincidentally, this was the
decade of the Garden State Parkway; the new north-south automobile route
provided smooth transportation up and down the coast, and resort cities
that flourished had adapted to the changing lifestyle it represented.
Today, much of the history of southern New Jersey and the Delaware Bay
can only be found in photographs, archival records, and the memories of
a few aged residents. Although a great deal of shore architecture has
also been lost, much remains to remind modern visitors of the past in
the undeveloped crossroads, towns, and villages. More significantly,
shore cities have continued to build and evolve. Without pretending to
be a survey of regional architecture, this report has highlighted
characteristic historical and extant resources. In conjunction with its
companion volume, HABS's study of a cross-section of significant cities
and buildings on the Jersey Shore is intended to promote further study
of the region.